


Hopes and Fears

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [4]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopes and Fears

**Author's Note:**

> Another example of something I think could benefit from a rewrite, but I'm posting these in the order I wrote them. I think this one was done in 2005. Part of the Live By The Sword series, featuring Arthur as a cop and Lancelot as the heir to a mobster's empire.
> 
> Song titles and lyrics belong to the fabulous Keane, from their album Hopes and Fears.

_You say you wander your own land but when I think about it I don’t see how you can_

“Bloody hell.”

 

The books hitting the table made the cracking headache Arthur had pound a little harder. He rubbed his temples, and squinted up at the man currently staring at him, one hand on his hip, the other pointing accusingly at Arthur.

 

“You never said word one about Professor Supak being an ass.”

 

Arthur shook his head, sighing, shutting his Theory on the Criminal Mind textbook. Studying looked to be a lost cause now. “He’s not. Why would you say that?”

 

Lancelot flopped onto the overstuffed couch next to Arthur; the Coffee Bean was as packed as normal. Luckily the young woman that had been sitting next to Arthur had just left. “A hundred pages of reading? In two days? Arthur, I have 4 other classes. The man must be crazy.” He huffed dramatically, and kicked his feet up on to the low table in front of them.

 

“How long have you been in school? And how long have you known what classes were like? And how long have you been putting off this particular one?”

 

Lance frowned. “Leave it to you to remind me. Thanks.”

 

Arthur smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.” He raised his book, hoping to be able to get back into it. A few moments of reading, and he ticked his eyes to Lancelot. “What?”

 

“I’m bored.”

 

“And that’s my fault?” Arthur replied. “I have five classes too, Lance. I have more than a hundred pages of reading. And – I haven’t unpacked more than three boxes yet. Stop distracting me.”

 

Lancelot knocked his knee into Arthur’s leg rhythmically until Arthur groaned, and put his text down. “Fine. For fuck’s sake, what do you want me to do?”

 

“Come unpack. Let’s go back to the apartment. There’s beer there. Coffee’s boring,” the younger man said, a sly grin on his face. He bounced to his feet. “Besides, you can help me with the reading.”

 

Arthur responded with an annoyed moan, but grabbed his things, and followed Lance out of the coffeeshop.

 

*

 

_you’re aching, you’re breaking and I can see the pain in your eyes_

 

The two bedroom apartment the men had recently moved into was echoingly empty except for some plain furniture, their beds, and one lone Van Gogh on the wall. Arthur had looked at it skeptically when Lancelot had hung it.

 

“Look. I know it’s cliched. I’ve had it for a long time. Now leave it alone,” he had grumped, and Arthur hadn’t commented on the painting. It was cliched for any college student to have that poster – but it was actually a nice picture. He liked it more the more he got used to it. It could have been worse. ‘Starry Night’ was a sight better than Munch at any rate.

 

Arthur dumped his books on his bed, and looked around at the stacks of boxes that greeted him. Thank god he had installed his shelving already. That was going to take up the most room. 

 

He picked one box at random, and after switching on his radio, began to unpack. Soon enough he smelled coffee brewing from the kitchen, and smiled. Boring, huh? He did have to admit that it was Lance’s fault he had become a coffee snob, however. 

 

As he unpacked, his mind whirled like it always did to other things. Hearing the other man’s voice in the background, obviously talking on the phone, made Arthur think on just how long he had known the Benoits, and how much they meant to him.

 

Moving in with Lancelot had been a great idea to begin with; it would save a lot of money, and keep him from getting sucked into his typical school mode where he would go weeks without seeing anyone. 

 

On the other hand…

 

Arthur cleared his throat and tried not to think of the reasons it might be a bad idea. 

 

The two men had clicked immediately upon their first meeting many years previous; Arthur was also very fond of Lancelot’s sister, Gwen. There was, though, something about the younger man that Arthur fed off of, like no one he’d ever been around. When they went more than two days without talking he felt wrong.

 

They hadn’t really ever discussed it; Arthur had a feeling Lancelot just took it for granted that Arthur liked him so much, after all, he was Lancelot.

 

Not meaning that the other man had draw because of his namesake. Lance detested the name. He had made that clear from the get go. Arthur only slipped up when he was angry, or when he wanted Lance to truly pay attention to him.

 

Guinevere didn’t seem to care about hers, and Arthur was pretty sure only the two of them knew his full name – Artorius – and the fact that his Italian mother had been dead set on naming him that. So dead set that she had cried until Arthur’s father had given in. They all still laughed about the fact that just by their names they were destined to be friends – Arthur frowning at the use of that word ( he wasn’t fond of the concept) – but it was the start of one of the most important relationships in Arthur’s life.

 

As for Arthur, he wasn’t really sure why Lancelot seemed to enjoy his company. The younger man really loved to work at Arthur until he either snapped and yelled, or walked away. They could argue for hours about the stupidest of things, and be so angry with each other they went blue in the face, then be conversing about books and the new professor that Lancelot had the hots for minutes later.

 

Arthur shook his head. He’d never understand their relationship. Not if his life depended on it. And lately…well, things seemed to be slightly different between them. 

 

Arthur had noticed Lancelot watching him more frequently. He also noticed that the younger man would blush fiercely when caught, and mumble something about ‘being appalled at your taste in clothing.’ Arthur thought it funny at first, but after a few months, he had begun to notice it happening more frequently.

 

Perhaps the younger man was just … bored of his current stable of lovers? Lance had never lacked for company, male or female, so Arthur was beginning to get worried about the change in his behavior. He wasn’t going out nearly as frequently as he used to; he seemed to find a lot of extra time to spend around Arthur.

 

Which Arthur was finding made him increasingly happier. He got down and snappy when he didn’t spend time with Lancelot over a few days’ period. He attributed it to the fact that with this being his last year of school, he was afraid of them growing apart…and was taking the time they spent together very seriously.

 

Bah. He didn’t know. All he knew was that when the other man had suggested that they share an apartment for Arthur’s last year, he had jumped at the chance. It had nothing to do with his finding reasons to hang around Lancelot, or the fact that Arthur all of a sudden just needed to ask him a certain question that couldn’t been asked over the phone.

 

It also had nothing to do with the way the younger man looked, or the way he smelled.

 

He shoved books on to the new brick shelves, angry with himself and his confusion. He’d never overanalyzed their friendship before. It was just – him, and Lancelot. And that’s the way it was.

 

Now? Bugger. Fuck it all. Forget it. 

 

He turned his radio up, and continued to put away things.

 

*

 

_For a moment your eyes open and you know all the things I ever wanted you to know_

 

A few hours later Arthur realized that Lance had never come into his room, and he was actually done with the books. Surveying the set up, he dusted his hands off, and broke down the rest of the boxes.

 

Carrying them with him, he made his way into the living room, where a pair of feet sticking up over the couch greeted him.

 

He layed the boxes down by the door, and wandered into the kitchen, frowning at the now empty coffee pot, and put more on.

 

Going back into the main room, he stood at the foot of the leather sofa, and watched as Lancelot read his text, feet bouncing to the music from his iPod. 

 

_He’s studying? I must be rubbing off on him._

 

He stood there a while; the younger man never looked up, concentrating on his History of 20th Century Philosophers book, seemingly engrossed in it.

 

Retrieving his newly made coffee, Arthur sank into one of the matching chairs across from Lance, and kicked his leg.

 

“Ow! Fuck!” the other man yelled, jerking his phones out of his ears, casting an annoyed expression on Arthur. “You should be astonished I’m studying. I can’t believe you interrupted me.”

 

“Considering I was able to put away all my books with no one bothering me, I was beginning to think no one was in the house,” Arthur commented dryly, avoiding Lancelot’s answering kick with ease. “I thought you wanted to drink.”

 

“I did. I made coffee. Don’t you have some?” he pointed at Arthur’s mug. 

 

“Yes…because I made this. You drank an entire pot? I hesitate to guess how late you’ll be up.”

 

“I told you, Castus,” Lancelot replied snappishly, “I have one hundred pages of reading. And since no one’s helping me…had to do it myself.” He made a hmmphing sound and went to put his earphones back in.

 

Arthur shot out of his chair and yanked the iPod out of Lancelot’s hands.

 

“Hey! What the fuck, Arthur!” the younger man sat up, his face reflecting his anger and confusion. “I thought you wanted me to study!”

 

Arthur leant in so his face was inches from Lancelot’s own. “Why are you acting so strangely?”

 

One of Lance’s perfect eyebrows rose in an arch. “What are you talking about? I do need to do some schoolwork. Not like I can pass on my charm alone.”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Lance,” Arthur said quietly, the fire gone out of his tone. “You’re – I don’t know. You’ve been different around me for a while now.”

 

“How do you mean? I’m the same lovely person I always am around you…despite having to always work at it,” Lancelot answered, rolling his eyes. Arthur noticed the other man’s cheeks were staining pink again, and he avoided Arthur’s gaze.

 

“Look at me, Lancelot,” Arthur said, tone calm, eyes dark with … something. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. But he was sure he was annoyed and concerned enough to risk asking something he normally wouldn’t dare.

 

“Don’t. Call me that,” Lancelot hissed, sitting up straight, meeting Arthur’s eyes. “What in the hell do you want? I’m trying to study, for fuck’s sake,” the younger man practically moaned. Arthur was taken aback at Lancelot’s tone.

 

“I’m just … Lance, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed things are different between us.” Arthur sighed, and sat on the coffeetable in front of the couch. He picked at his trousers, which were beginning to show signs of wear.

 

“How, Arthur? Things will be different. We might see a lot less of each other,” Lancelot answered, facing the other man. “That happens sometimes to roommates.”

 

Arthur hung his head. If Lancelot was going to make this difficult….

 

“You keep watching me. I see your eyes following me. You are around all the time – and I feel strange when I don’t see you. I’ve known you for years, Lance,” Arthur added softly, “and I’ve never once questioned the strength of our friendship. But…lately…it’s different. I don’t know if I can describe it accurately.”

 

“Try, Arthur,” Lancelot snapped, standing. “Because I have no clue what you’re on about.”

 

“Are you developing feelings for me?”

 

That stopped the younger man in his tracks.

 

He turned, and stared at Arthur, his lips opening once, the bottom one slipping between his teeth at last. “What – what?”

 

Arthur stood as well, walking towards Lancelot, the other man backing slowly away from him. “You heard me,” Arthur stated, still moving so Lancelot ended up banging his ass into their dining room table.

 

The younger man laughed, a bitter sound that couldn’t hide his embarassment. He scrubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to cover the red.

 

“Besides those of annoyance? What are you blathering on about, Arthur? You think … you actually think I’d go so far as to stoop to wanting you? I’m not exactly lonely.”

 

Arthur would have taken offense at the comment, if he hadn’t known Lancelot so well. The younger man’s eyes weren’t reflecting his words. 

 

His eyes. 

 

Arthur crossed the few steps that separated them, until he was only a few millimetres away. “Look me in the eyes, tell me we’re just friends, and I’ll leave it at that. But there has got to be something going on with you. You are different. Don’t deny it.”

 

_Morning comes and you don’t want to know me anymore_

 

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just – bored with this,” Lancelot replied, not looking at Arthur. That in and of itself told the older man the truth.

 

“Bored with what?”

 

“With you! With our friendship. I don’t know,” Lancelot pushed past Arthur, sitting at the table. Arthur could see his long fingers shaking from where he was.

 

Arthur followed him persistently. “Then why in the bloody fuck would you ask me to share a home with you? That makes no sense, Lance.”

 

“To save money?”

 

Arthur laughed outright at that answer, his temper beginning to flare. “I cannot believe you just said that. Please, how well do I know you? How well do I know your family? You’d have to pierce your cock and call yourself ‘Bozo the dogfaced boy’ to get disinherited by Roland.”

 

Lancelot jumped to his feet; it was Arthur’s turn to walk backward, this time stopping at the doorjam.

 

“Leave my family out of this, Artorius. I know what they are. How could I forget with you constantly reminding me?”

 

“What? I never talk about them – what the fuck do you mean?” Arthur’s eyes were narrowed dangerously; Lancelot completely ignored them.

 

They were nose to nose, their voices rising to match one another’s ire.

 

“Always talking about Uther, what a great man he was, how you’d like to be half that wonderful. How his record as a cop is still the best in his branch of the LAPD. Reminding me of how my family only adds to the problems here -”

 

That was all Arthur could take. He snarled, and shoved his hands out, pushing Lancelot back away from him.

 

Lancelot flashed his own teeth at Arthur, and leapt at him.

 

The two men went down in a tangle of limbs, tearing and punching at each other. At one point it was hard to tell just who was who, dark hair and flailing arms a great blur.

 

“Asshole!” A meaty smack reverberated through the apartment, and they both froze. Arthur’s hand rose to his nose, which was beginning to pour blood down his face, where it pooled in the hollow of his neck.

 

Lancelot’s brown eyes went wide; he sat astride Arthur, his knuckles split and bloody from where he had punched the other man.

 

Arthur moved, knocking Lance to the floor, and stumbled to the kitchen, where he ran water into a towel, then filled it with ice.

 

He shut his eyes and held the thing to his nose, hissing at the cold.

 

A moment later and Lancelot was in the room, silent and white, moving aside the towel to check the damage.

 

“It looks broken,” he whispered. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

 

For once, Arthur didn’t argue with him.

 

*

 

_and only some idiot would let you go_

 

“Keep this packed for 24 hours, and it should be fine. Here’s your scrip,” the young nurse handed Arthur a piece of paper. He thanked her, and made his way to the waiting room, where Lance shot to his feet at the sight of him.

 

Arthur almost yelled at him for waiting, but at the horrid expression of remorse and worry on the younger man’s face, he just sighed, and allowed Lancelot to lead the way out.

 

Lance had sprained his wrist, and had a few cuts and one large shiner that was starting to purple nicely – and had been correct about Arthur’s nose.

 

Arthur had never felt so ridiculous, walking next to his friend, both of them limping slightly, Lancelot’s eye black, Arthur’s nose packed with gauze.

 

He was also pretty sure his side would be sore for days from the sucker punch the other man had landed on his kidney. For a slender man, Lance had a strong upper cut.

 

They didn’t talk all the way back to the house; Lancelot drove his Thunderbird in silence, no radio for once. Arthur leapt out the moment they stopped, stopping in the kitchen to take some painkillers.

 

“Do you need any…” Lancelot trailed off. Arthur shook his head, then winced at the dizzyness that caused.

 

“I’m fine. Goodnight.”

 

Arthur retreated to his room, before the puppy eyes of his roommate could convince him to do anything else.

 

*

 

In the middle of the night Arthur mumbled annoyedly to himself, and rolled over to check the time.

 

“GAH!”

 

Lancelot shushed him, apologizing repeatedly. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.” The younger man stood hastily. “I’ll go. Sorry I woke you.”

 

Arthur watched his retreating back, then shut his eyes. “Lance. Wait.”

 

“Arthur – to be honest, if we’re just going to fight again, I’d rather not. I’m not feeling the ‘two black eyes’ look right now.”

 

Arthur grimaced at the set of Lancelot’s shoulders, and how defeated the young man sounded. “Come back. I won’t argue – I promise.” He patted the bed next to him, and sat up, checking his nose gingerly. It seemed to have stopped bleeding.

 

The bruising under Lance’s eye was going to be a spectacular purple and yellow in the morning. Arthur reached a hesitant finger up, touching it gently, pulling his hand away when the other man flinched.

 

“I’m truly sorry,” Arthur said in a quiet voice. “You know I don’t do that kind of thing. Especially to friends.”

 

“Well, you seem to have done it to me. At least mine will fade soon – you’ll have to live with a crooked nose.” Arthur hid a smile under a cough; the petulant sound in Lancelot’s voice meant the other man was feeling slightly better.

 

“I’ll manage somehow,” Arthur answered dryly. “Lance…”

 

His curls hanging in his face, Lancelot shoved them back, and sighed. “Arthur, don’t, okay? I’m not ready to face the implications of what we … talked about. Not yet. Not without some time and few drinks in me. All right?”

 

_If only I don’t bend and break_

 

Arthur cocked his head, and watched the other man. “Is there something you need to face?”

 

His hand rubbing the bruised skin of his face, Lancelot sighed, finally meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is – I’m not sane when you’re not around. It’s like I’m missing a synapse, or something.”

 

Arthur laughed at the metaphor. “So you’re comparing me to Prozac?”

 

“I didn’t say neurotransmitter, Arthur,” he answered, a tiny smile of his own decorating his lips. “And maybe I am. In my case at any rate. Just – give me some time to sort things through, hm? Can you do that?”

 

Arthur nodded. “Whatever you want, Lance. You know how to find me – you do know where I live, after all.”

 

“Good point,” the younger man replied, smile a tad brighter. He stood. “Sleep well.”

 

“You too,” Arthur said, and his eyes followed Lancelot as he left, shutting Arthur’s door behind him.

 

Despite his intentions, Arthur didn’t sleep again that night.

 

*

 

A few days later, Lancelot found Arthur in his room, hanging the last of his clothing. “You busy?”

 

“No,” Arthur answered, ass in the air as he stowed the last of his shoes at the bottom of the closet. “You need something?” He turned and stood up, a small groan escaping his lips when he got a good look at Lancelot’s face.

 

They had been studiously avoiding one another since their fight, and this was the first Arthur had seen of the effects of his fist on Lancelot’s features.

 

He grimaced, and moved toward the other man. “Oh, Lance. I’m really sorry.”

 

Lancelot waved it off; he was sort of used to the yellow, orange and black bruise that surrounded his right eye, the puffiness much better now.

 

Besides – it got him a lot of attention.

 

“Forget it, Arthur. It’s much better at any rate. You still have some bruising too, I see.”

 

Arthur nodded – his nose was better as well – but still hurt like all hell. The doctor couldn’t really do anything about it until he saw Arthur the next morning, once most of the swelling had gone down. 

 

“It’s fine. What did you need?”

 

They way they were shuffling around each other reminded Arthur of prizefighters, and it made his chest ache. He smiled tentatively at Lancelot, who crossed his arms, and made a few noncommital noises.

 

“I know – I know the news has been saying there’s a quake watch right now,” he started, just as hesitant as Arthur was, “and the riot cops are out. But … since we’re so close … you want to check out that park at the top of the street? One of the neighbors told me it was nice.”

 

Arthur’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Really? Yeah, actually, I would like to.”

 

_Lancelot's interested in a park?_

 

The younger man smiled, and threaded his fingers together. “Well then. Get your shoes on, and we’ll check it out.”

 

*

 

_oh simple thing, where have you gone?_

 

The sunset was almost a cliché. It seemed to be showing off for every person who happened to be in the park – who happened to be just Arthur and Lancelot.

 

“Hrm,” Arthur commented, “it’s pretty. Just – not too popular, I guess?”

 

“Well,” Lancelot answered, “with the quake watches…I guess everyone’s at home. It is nice, though.”

 

They walked in comfortable silence up a small rise, and stopped at the top.

 

“Wow,” Arthur breathed, and Lancelot nodded his agreement. “Ditto.”

 

The familiar landscape of Los Angeles greeted them, but neither of them had seen it from this height before. The city was remarkably free of most of it’s normal smog, and the colors from the sunset lit the buildings with an ethereal glow.

 

“Amazing,” Arthur added. “I’ve never thought of this place as anything but a dirty, crowded little annoyance. You can actually see why it has such an allure from here.”

 

Lancelot laughed, and turned to sit on a bench that was placed under a cottonwood tree. He took a deep whiff, and sighed contently. “I love that smell.”

 

Arthur joined him, and raised one leg, wrapping his arm around his knee. He stared out at the vista in front of them.

 

“What, cottonwood? I didn’t know that.”

 

“Yeah. My grandmother had them in her yard – you’re not supposed to grow them on private property,” he answered, smiling at the memory, “but she managed to grow a few without anyone saying anything. Their spores mess up the air conditioning, or something.”

 

Arthur didn’t respond; he had a feeling Alicia Benoit had been able to grow cottonwoods because of another reason, but he didn’t mention it.

 

They gazed in silence for a while. 

 

The sun finally set, and left the sky streaked with purples and golds, the lamps in the small park coming on with the approaching darkness. Arthur could hear some chopper noises from the city, but they were far away enough for them not to worry about it.

 

“So – what have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a while,” Arthur said innocently. He was wondering if Lance had been thinking about what they had been fighting about as much as he had.

 

He hoped so, sort of. Part of him was as afraid of what his feelings meant for them and their friendship as the other man was.

 

_And I don’t understand the same things as you but I do_

 

The night he had gotten back from the hospital, he had lain awake, and thought about everything – the dangers in risking their relationship for something else, the ridiculousness of how the Benoit’s really didn’t approve of Lance and Gwen’s friendship with Arthur (being a cop’s son), the realities of being able to date just one person.

 

Arthur wasn’t as much a playboy as Lance was; he had had his share of partners, but hadn’t really settled on one person. Every time the chance came, he found a reason to break up with the other person, or suddenly decided that particular relationship wasn’t the right one.

 

He had to wonder now – was he waiting for someone? And why did he have the sneaking suspicion that the person he was waiting for was someone he already knew?

 

“Not much. Studying. Thinking,” Lance responded quietly. “Sorry I’ve been so absent.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said quickly. “I didn’t – I didn’t expect you to be around all the time. You have your own life, too.”

 

_Why does mine feel so crappy without him in it?_

 

“That’s the thing, Arthur,” Lancelot stated, and turned his body so his leg was on the bench, facing Arthur completely. Arthur could feel the heat radiating from the other man’s skin, and cleared his throat.

 

“I do have a life. But – after what happened the other night,” he had the presence of mind to blush, remembering, “I did some thinking. And … we’ve been friends a long time, yes?”

 

Arthur was taking slightly aback at the abrupt question, but nodded.

 

“I just – I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of you that way before,” Lance continued, both his knees folding like Arthur’s, his hands resting on them. Arthur noticed the fingers twitching, in constant movement. Lancelot did that infrequently – and only when he was nervous.

 

“But when I gave it serious thought, I had to weigh the importance of our friendship versus a physical relationship. I didn’t want to lose you over something as stupid as sex,” the younger man was blushing even more fiercely. 

 

He sighed to himself, and looked out over the view of LA, then turned back to Arthur. “I can have sex whenever I choose,” he said baldly, finally looking straight at Arthur. “But there’s only one of you. And I couldn’t risk that.”

 

Arthur had to remember to shut his mouth. He had never, in the many years he had known the other man, heard him say anything remotely that insightful. He felt slightly muzzy at the realization that Lancelot had spent that much time thinking about him – and it totally threw him.

 

He tried to think of something to say, something that equaled the power of that simple statement. He was touched almost to the point of tears – his eyes burned, and he had to shake his head a few times.

 

“Lance, I – I don’t know how to respond to that,” he finally said helplessly. “All I can say is I feel the same. But – I’ve also come to the conclusion,” he shrugged; just tell him, “that – God blast it, but this is hard – fuck.”

 

Lancelot was watching him intently, his eyes wide and dark. At Arthur’s powerless words, however, he rolled his eyes, and leant forward.

 

Arthur had to refrain from jumping out of his skin when the younger man’s lips brushed his. A zinging shot from the touch made the hair on his arms stand up, but just as soon as he was there, Lancelot was back in his own space.

 

“Arthur,” he said quietly, “it’s only as hard as you make it.”

 

They stared at each other, the implications from what had just happened sinking in. Arthur clutched his hands together, trying desperately not to wring them. Now that he was faced with the possibility, he was unsure. Could he risk it? He didn’t know what he would do if they weren’t friends later on down the road if something stupid came between them.

 

But then again – even if they didn’t move on to this – something stupid could come between them anytime. Like a fight about their families.

 

“You’ve suddenly become okay with this,” Arthur said somewhat grumpily. “Why is everything so easy for you?”

 

A laugh barked it’s way out of Lancelot’s mouth. “Easy? Are you insane? I haven’t slept in two days, Arthur. I’ve been out of my mind with thinking about this. Easy? Do you understand how hard it would be for me to not have you in my life?”

 

Arthur started at the almost word for word repeating of his own thoughts.

 

Maybe. 

 

“I can’t do without you. Believe me. And yes…I would love to ‘take it to the next level,’ as they say,” he rolled his eyes again, “but I’ll do whatever you want to. If you just want to be roommates, fine. If you want to remain as we are, that’s all right too. But whatever you choose, just … I need you. In any capacity. Please believe me,” he repeated, his hand closing over Arthur’s. “My life, my … everything, everything that’s got any kind of meaning is that way because of you.”

 

“Jesus,” Arthur whispered. His fingers clasped Lancelot’s hand back, tightly.

 

“I know that’s dramatic,” the other man smiled, “you know me. But it’s the truth, Arthur. You made me consider some things…and I knew, somewhere, what you meant to me. What you always have meant to me.”

 

He reached his free hand up, and brushed it lightly over Arthur’s features, removing the tears that had slid unintentionally from the older man’s eyes. The corners of Lance’s eyes crinkled.

 

“What? Did I scare you?” He laughed gently and wiped the rest of the moisture away, putting his hand back on top of their already joined ones.

 

“My hair may be white come morning,” Arthur replied, a small laugh breaking from his throat, some of the tension releasing itself.

 

He sobered, and ran his hand up Lancelot’s arm tentatively, to his neck, where it rested over the big pulse there.

 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

 

“Wow. Big praise from the golden tongued – one,” Lance commented, smirking. Arthur laughed again. “You want – come here?”

 

Lancelot actually looked shy for a moment, then obligingly slid over closer to Arthur on the bench. 

 

They had touched before; they had certainly no reason to be shy around one another, but now that things were different…

 

…Arthur’s legs moved apart on the seat so Lancelot could get between them. 

 

They both sighed quietly as the younger man settled against Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s arms going ‘round him slowly, clutching more tightly after a moment.

 

Lancelot’s eyes drifted shut, and he lay with his nose pressed to the place below Arthur’s chin; just breathing the other man in.

 

_I hold you in cupped hands and shield you from a storm_

 

Arthur’s own eyes fluttered, but he made himself keep them open, staring down at Lancelot, memorizing the feel and shape of the amazing thing in his arms.

 

He must have made some little noise, because Lance moved, raising his head off Arthur’s chest, his brown eyes unfocused and hazy. They didn’t say anything; Arthur leant toward him, and touched his lips to the younger man’s for the second time.

 

It was chaste and strange at first; they had both had men before, but not like this.

 

Not when it meant so much. Lancelot moaned Arthur’s name into his mouth, and Arthur’s arms tugged on him, needing to get as close as possible to Lance.

 

His tongue darted out, running over the other man’s lips gently, asking, not taking. 

 

“Fuck’s sake, Arthur, I’m no virgin,” Lancelot mumbled, and sunk his hands into Arthur’s hair, practically climbing up the other man.

 

He ended up straddling Arthur – who was a bit surprised at the vehemence of the kiss, but didn’t break it.

 

Arthur could say something for all of Lancelot’s experience – the man could kiss.

 

Arthur shivered, and opened his own mouth, which Lance took immediate advantage of, tongue exploring the wet heat that was suddenly the only thing he was interested in.

 

“God,” Arthur managed to breathe, and groaned when the other man rubbed himself against Arthur. 

 

“No – just me,” Lance whispered, the smirk still evident in his voice. “Arth – oh,” he dropped off, his voice cracking as Arthur’s hand discovered the ties on his pants.

 

“Impatient?” he laughed breathlessly, but the laugh left him as Arthur’s deft fingers found their way inside his clothing.

 

“Oh my…ah,” garbled it’s way out of his throat, his head falling forward onto Arthur’s shoulder. His own hands spasmed in Arthur’s hair, one of them falling to the other man’s chest, scraping his nails on the skin that was exposed near Arthur’s collar.

 

The older man’s hand worked a slow, unsteady rhythm, never letting Lance get used to one thing. He thought he might have to kill Arthur if he didn’t speed up, or at least choose a pace. He was about to voice this concern when Arthur decided to take pity on him, and began to move up and down the length of his prick in smooth, slow strokes.

 

Stars burst in Lancelot’s vision, and he bit down hard on Arthur’s shoulder as his climax hit, Arthur’s name a whisper onto the other man’s skin.

 

Arthur smiled as Lancelot collapsed weakly against him, his lips moving soundlessly against Arthur’s neck. Arthur removed his hand from the other man’s cock, and retied his pants neatly.

 

“God…fucking hell. You’re a genius,” Lance managed to get out, his heart hammering against Arthur’s chest, his hands limply resting on Arthur’s shoulders.

 

“I do have some talents you don’t know about,” was the quiet answer; Lancelot had enough energy to smile faintly at the claim. “I hope you’ll share the rest with me later,” he replied, his lips beginning to find the place behind Arthur’s ear very interesting.

 

Arthur kept smiling, catching one of Lancelot’s hands in his, winding their fingers together.

 

“Try and stop me,” he told the younger man.

 

*

 

A good half hour and not a few kisses later, the two men finally broke apart, exhausted, but happy.

 

“We didn’t try this before why?” Arthur asked, not able to wipe the silly grin off his face. He leant his head onto Lancelot’s shoulder; the younger man slung an arm around his neck, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Arthur’s head.

 

“Because we’re stupid and have to think things through,” Lance answered, then laughed. “Oh, wait, that’s just you.” He dodged the weak fist Arthur waved at him, and stood, tugging Arthur with him.

 

“Come on, Castus,” he said, pulling on Arthur’s hand. “Time to go home.”

 

Arthur agreed; it was full dark, and the chopper sounds were getting closer.

 

The thought of the police raised some worried ideas to his mind – like what in the hell they were going to tell Gwen, and Lancelot’s family, if anything – and how the Benoit’s would react to their chosen one sleeping with the son of their most famous enemy.

 

“Stop.”

 

“Hm?” Arthur turned and looked at Lancelot, who was frowning at him. 

 

“Stop worrying. We’ve only just started this, Arthur. Don’t bring things into it we haven’t even imagined yet, okay?”

 

Arthur bit his lip, but tried to smile. “I’ll try.”

 

Lancelot rolled his eyes, and kept walking toward their street. “I guess that’s the best I can hope for.”

 

Arthur trailed after Lancelot, his closest friend, his…what? Other half? Soul mate? Those were just labels, and silly ones at that. 

 

But Arthur understood the idea behind trying to label something that was so important, something that people had been trying to label and make sense of forever.

 

The corner of his mouth curled as he watched his –

 

Lancelot walk down the street, a slight swagger in his step, an out of tune whistle barely making it’s way to Arthur’s ears.

 

Difficult? Yes. Maybe not the smartest thing they could have done? Most assuredly.

 

At the moment Arthur didn’t care.

 

He jogged slightly to catch up to the other man. “Last one to the house gets the small end of the tub.” 

 

And he broke into a run, laughing as Lance groaned and chased after him, the lights on the street competing with the stars barely visible in the city sky.

 

_Because everybody’s changing and I don’t feel the same_


End file.
